


forgiveness is a lesson he cursed you to learn

by lettersfromnowhere



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: ...Self-Forgiveness?, Angsty Newlyweds :/, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Forgiveness, Hurt/Comfort, Pensive Zuko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25217278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersfromnowhere/pseuds/lettersfromnowhere
Summary: Sometimes it hits him, when he's watching Katara sleep like this - so peaceful in her total vulnerability next to the man whose family is responsible for her motherless childhood, for the pain of so many countless others  - that he cannot possibly atone for everything he and his family have done. There's hardly a person alive who hasn't felt the Fire Nation's ruthless hand in some way, who doesn't at least know someone who does; the sins of his forefathers are almost overwhelming in scope. Zuko cannot understand how anyone could forgive him for that no matter how hard he works to change things, to get it right when his family couldn't.Self-forgiveness is a difficult road for the head of a family that's made a few too many mistakes, but if the newly-crowned Fire Lady has anything to say about it, it's one that Zuko will walk to the end.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 148





	forgiveness is a lesson he cursed you to learn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thewhiitelotus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhiitelotus/gifts).



> Title is from "Uneven Odds" by Sleeping at Last. I had a Moment tonight, involving my creepy ex, forgiveness, and letters, and this is my coping mechanism, because I only think in terms of zutara fic now, woohoo. 
> 
> Also, it's pretty dumb how proud I am of my brand-new headcanon that Sokka invented the swivel chair in this 'verse.

The moon floods their chambers through the gauzy curtains, bathing Katara's sleep-softened features in cool, clear light. It can't be later than two, and she's fast asleep, her hair splayed across the pillow and both her hands reaching for him. And all Zuko wants is to take those little hands and hold them to his heart and never let them go, but the guilt that seizes his mind screams _run, run, run,_ and he can't seem to tell it no. 

It's been like this a few times in the month since their wedding. Katara always falls asleep last, finding her way into Zuko's arms as she does. She tries different positions, experimenting for maximum comfort; this time she's on her side with an arm thrown across his stomach while he lays on his back. She sleeps peacefully, Zuko wakes first, and as he watches the soft rise and fall of her chest, the terror and guilt and shame he always thinks he's put to rest when the sun is high come raring back with a vengeance. 

(If she rises with the moon, so do his fears.) 

Usually, he stays, letting her rest against his clammy, sweat-soaked skin as his mind races. But tonight he can't take it, and without so much as a second look, he's out of bed and padding down the hall to his study. 

_I don't deserve her._ It always starts with those words, and they bounce around in his head as he slumps into the chair at his desk. (It swivels. Sokka had designed it and given his brother-in-law the prototype, and thinking about that chair is just further salt in the wound - another gift from another man whose life his people upended.)

He rests his elbows against the mahogany of his desk, shoving papers aside, and buries his face in his hands, not bothering to bite back the lump in his throat. Sometimes it hits him, when he's watching Katara sleep like this - so peaceful in her total vulnerability next to the man whose family is responsible for her motherless childhood, for the pain of so many countless others - that he cannot possibly atone for everything he and his family have done. There's hardly a person alive who hasn't felt the Fire Nation's ruthless hand in some way, who doesn't at least know someone who does; the sins of his forefathers are almost overwhelming in scope. Zuko cannot understand how anyone could forgive him for that no matter how hard he works to change things, to get it right when his family couldn't. 

And when he watches the sleeping form of the best person he has ever known, he cannot understand how anyone could possibly look at a face that bore the clearest imaginable illustration of the Fire Nation royal family's capacity for destruction and see someone worthy of the kind of selfless, unconditional love that his wife so freely gives him. Thinking of Katara always makes him breathless - sometimes in pleasant ways, some in ones that aren't so pleasant - but right now, the thought of her makes him feel short of breath in the worst possible way, and he shudders as a few stray tears begin to slip from his sleep-heavy eyes. 

"Zuko?"

He flinches at the sound of Katara's voice from the doorway - he hadn't heard her come in - and doesn't turn. Every inch of him wants to run to her, bury his face in her nightshirt and beg for forgiveness, but he holds himself back. He is the guilty one. He is the one who must face the consequences. But she comes to him.

"Zuko," she whispers, less uncertain now, as she walks behind his chair and leans forward to wrap her arms around his slumped shoulders. "What's wrong, love?" 

His shoulders shudder with a muffled sob. He wants to take the hands that wrap around his shoulders in his, but he doesn't. _You don't deserve her comfort,_ he tells himself, and he almost shrugs off her arms but he can't bring himself to do it. "You should go back to bed," he rasps, his voice thick with tears and exhaustion. "I'll be all right." 

Zuko doesn't expect Katara to comply, but she does, releasing him with a soft kiss to the crown of his head and walking away. It's a relief as much as it's heartbreaking to see her go, knowing how much he needs and does not deserve her. She's back moments later, though, and when she returns she wraps a blanket around his shoulders, then circles the chair to perch atop his knees, pulling her feet up under her. Katara doesn't say anything, wrapping her arms around his torso silently as she tucks herself under his chin. Zuko tries to hold back with the last ounces of resolve he has, but her tenderness breaks them down in moments, and he cannot stop himself from speaking. 

"I don't deserve you," he admits, not knowing whether to expect her to reply. When she doesn't, he goes on. "Me and my family and the whole Fire Nation...we've hurt so many people, Katara. We've done so much _wrong,_ and I just...every time I hear about another problem to solve that wouldn't even exist without us, I can't believe there's anything I could do make up for it all." He dips his head to rest the full weight of his chin atop her head. "I can't. No matter who forgives me, I...I can't forgive myself. And sometimes when I see you sleeping like that - _you,_ who grew up without your mom because of something _my_ country did - it's just too much." She tightens her arms around his neck, and Zuko reflexively tightens his grip on her waist. "I took so much from you, and now you're willingly giving me all of you, and Katara..." 

He can't finish, and she doesn't say a word. She can't - Katara's done all she can to convince him that he is fully forgiven, and she knows now that he's the one who has to learn to forgive himself. She can do nothing more but be there, in his arms where he believes she is too good to belong, to show him just how _wrong_ he is - just how lucky she counts herself to be the wife of a man who's worked so hard to fix the world his forefathers fractured. He won't see it but she does, in every treaty he signs and every gentle brush of his skin against hers and every line the strain of his never-ending toil has carved into his face. He sees a man who can't ever earn forgiveness; she sees a man who's done that and more. So as he cries into her hair, she is there, a silent, grounding presence, until his tears run out.

And when they do, she swings her legs back to the floor and takes his hands, pulling him from the chair and walking with him. They return to their bedroom and Zuko is too weary to say another word, to resist, to do anything but follow her. When she latches the door behind them, Katara faces him, taking both his hands in hers and looks him full in the eyes. 

"You're a good man, Zuko," she tells him, and leans forward to press the softest kiss she's capable of to his lips before she lies down and motions for him to join her. 

Reluctantly, Zuko takes his place beside her, resting his cheek against her chest and molding himself to the contours of her side. Katara supports him this time, the inverse of their earlier position, and she doesn't let herself sleep until she does, the worry on his face melting away as he nods off. Soon he looks peaceful, breathing even and slow as he slips back into sleep in the arms of the person who loves him most in the world. 

Silently, Katara presses her lips to his forehead - comfortably warm now, no longer clammy - and finally lets herself sleep again. 


End file.
